Carry On
by Lilandsam
Summary: Sirius packs a suitcase...sort of. R and R


**Carry On**

The rain fell in sheets. Cold, hard, piercing sheets, and he couldn't see a meter in front him. He kept walking. It felt good. It felt right. This was his fucking baptism. He looked up, opened his mouth, spread his arms and laughed. He was in-fucking-vincible. His red, soaked pillow case fell to his side with a _thud_.

Honestly, he couldn't remember what he'd put in the damn thing. When running away, Sirius discovered, packing extra socks falls rather low on the list of priorities.

The fight hadn't been unusual, at first.

"Voldemort's a raving lunatic," he had started, staring directly at his mother, "bloody ugly, too." His parents had been talking about the 'Dark Lord's' latest demands of the Ministry (the immediate expelling of all muggle-born wizards and witches from official ministry positions), his mother had just called the Director of Magical Law Enforcement an "obstinate, dirty-blooded fool" since he

was the most vocal dissenter, when Sirius spoke. (Why did Sirius not simply excuse himself from the table, symbolically demonstrating his dichotomic opinion instead of crassly stating it to his conservative, death-eater-sympathizing parents? Fuck symbols, that's why.) For a single, tense moment, everything was silent; his parents stopped talking, Regulus quit trying to cut his steak, and Sirius leaned back in his chair, never once breaking eye-contact with his mother.

His father reacted first.

The table shook as Orion Black shot up and lunged at Sirius.

"DO NOT DARE USE THAT NAME, YOU WORTHLESS SWINE!" Orion had him by the throat, squeezing, squeezing, his thumb pressed against Sirius' Adam's apple (How ironic: his father's initial impulse was Muggle fighting). Sputtering, his face flushed and his vision spotting, Sirius reached slowly into his robes. He gripped his wand then stunned his father. Orion flew backwards and Sirius collapsed on the floor, gulping air. It was a few seconds before Sirius realized his mother had started yelling.

"...INSOLENT, HOPELESS BLOOD-TRAITOR!" Sirius pulled himself up using the table's edge, his legs shaking, but his breathing normal.

"I'd rather be a 'hopeless blood-traitor' than a delusional bedlamite," he muttered (loud enough for his mother to hear). A plate whooshed past Sirius' ear. "HOW DARE YOU! HOW _DARE_ YOU!" Walburga Black levitated and jettisoned another plate towards Sirius (His mother didn't suffer from ironic muggle impulses). He ducked then magically lobbed Regulus' steak at her. The meat hit its target's face then plopped to the ground. Sirius barked a laugh.

Walburga was not so amused.

She let out a flustered wail and sent a hex his way. Whatever it was, Sirius blocked it, sending the purple light rebounding towards his mother. She leapt out of its way and the hex hit the wall behind her.

"So sorry, mother. Do you need a break?" She shot another hex at him. And so it went for about ten minutes: Walburga shooting off hexes; Sirius blocking or dodging those hexes; Orion groggily trying to regain his footing, and Regulus crouched beneath the table (as he was when this fight began). Once his father finally mustered the strength to stand, he seemed to remember his magical abilities and let off a few hexes of his own. Sirius blocked his mother's then ducked, his father's hex grazing the top of his head. All of this, the choking, the hexing, the insults, happened so often one could call the fighting Black Family Bonding Time. Of course, Regulus hardly participated in the festivities, leaving Sirius to enjoy fending off mummy and daddy himself.

Sirius memorized each of their steps like chess, like a game; he called it 'When Can I Get These Bastards to Disown Me?'. He was winning, but he had not won. Not for lack of trying, though. He'd disagree with his parents no matter the topic (he once told his mother she looked like a 'bloodied cow' after his father complimented her dress); he embarrassed them in front of relatives and friends ("What are your plans after graduation, Sirius?" "Opening a brothel."), and, most importantly, he disparaged the 'Dark Lord' at every opportunity (see 'bloody ugly' example above). Despite his efforts, Sirius' parents never kicked him out. Not from any lingering devotion (if there ever _had_ been any devotion), Sirius knew, but from the intense desire to avoid scandal. However shameful a son like Sirius is, it's nothing compared to having one who is a known Blood-Traitor (although Sirius left little to the imagination where his opinions were concerned, he was considered a 'work in progress' until his parents gave up).

Eventually, Orion grew tired of shooting and dodging curses, so he (magically, this time) lifted Sirius off the ground and threw him out the door and into the parlor. Something new. His lungs emptied and spasmed as he tried to breath; he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and wheezed. Unfortunately, he did not have much of a reprieve before his mother lifted and dropped him again, the floor cold and punishing beneath him. "UNGRATEFUL." She lifted him again. "CARELESS." She dropped him. "MUDBLOOD'S PET." An unsettling _crunch_ accompanied his last fall; his chest caved and he tried to breath _In_ _and out, in and out_ , but he couldn't. For a moment, he thought he might die there, the floor beneath him, pathetically gasping. So completely vulnerable. It was only a moment, though. He regained control of his breathing and lifted his head. Standing over him, her wand pointed at his chest, strands of black, fly-away hairs falling out of her perfectly constructed bun, a small, self-satisfied sneer curling her lips, Sirius had never hated anyone as much as he hated his mother right then. He had a white-knuckled grip on his wand, which he raised ever-so-perceptibly and threw his mother against a wall.

With surprising strength, Sirius stood and ran to his room. He ripped his pillowcase from its pillow, tore open his drawers, and shoved as much as he could into it. He couldn't feel the break in his wrist; he couldn't feel his constricting chest; he couldn't feel anything besides hot, white _rage_.

He didn't realize Regulus was in the doorway until he turned to leave. His eyes looked wide. His hands fidgeted at his side. He looked small, shifting from foot to foot, like when he used to ask Sirius to play with him. A little boy looking for his older brother's affection. For a second, It jolted Sirius from his angry haze and he stilled.

"What are you doing?" Regulus asked and Sirius felt the weight of the pillowcase for the first time.

"What does it look like I'm doing." Regulus looked at Sirius' luggage; he looked panicked.

"You can't leave." His voice constricted; tight and high. "Where are you going to go? What are going to do? Sirius, you can't leave." Sirius felt a prickling in his chest but ignored it.

"I am. Get out of my way, Reg. Now."

"No, Sirius. This is ridiculous-" Sirius cut him off with a bitter, humorless laugh.

"Fuck you, Reg." He pushed past him. Reg grabbed the uninjured wrist before Sirius reached the stairs.

"They'll kill you." Regulus' voice was quiet. "the Dark Lord, Death Eaters...you're on the losing side, Sirius, and they'll kill you." Sirius didn't face him.

"At least I won't die a coward." He yanked his hand out of his grasp and stomped down the stairs, ran past his recovering mother and yelling father and into the street. He kept running, the end of the pillowcase wrapped around his uninjured hand. If anyone followed him outside, Sirius didn't hear them. He couldn't.

When he stopped, when he knew he was alone, he let the rain coat him like a healing balm. Then the pillow case fell and he felt cold, suddenly; his chest pounded; his wrist stung. So fucking painful.

He picked the red sack up. He looked around. In the rain, the world looked like it was melting. Like it was falling apart. Sirius closed his eyes and apparated to the first place that came to mind (technically this was illegal, him being 16 and all, but, well, he really didn't fucking care). Potter Manor stood impressively in front of him, a few lights twinkled in the windows, the well manicured garden stretched endlessly on either side. Sirius walked up to the front door and, with little hesitation, knocked. He heard some muffled conversation then footsteps. James Potter opened the door, his hair more tousled than usual, a smile lifting, but, after looking Sirius up and down, quickly turning to a frown, and his eyebrows raised in concern. Sirius felt the warmth streaming from inside the house.

"I need a place to stay tonight."


End file.
